So you all know how I always do my best not to be judgmental or make fun of other people. When it comes to joking about the misfortunes of others I really try to take the high road. I mean sure... I'll publicly ridicule anyone who doesn't look or act exactly like me every chance I get, but that's where I'll draw the line.

Despite my usually admirable discretion, I will tell you that this morning I saw a bearded woman breastfeeding a baby and I can't just let that shit slide. I must go public.

By the way, typing all of those words in that order brings everything about my life into perspective and I don't like how it sounds one bit.

Anyhoo, so there we were, watching our kids dance like they were on some sort of euphoric heroin trip

when the woman next to me leans over and says "they're really enjoying it, aren't they?"

I look over to smile and notice she has a FULL BEARD. I mean, we're not talking a little stubble. Not a few strays. A FULL BEARD. It was black. And it had a moustache. She engaged me in further conversation and my eyes struggled to maintain contact with hers as the beard acted as a magical magnetic field trying to lure them downward with its beautifully tantalizing force.

My eyes were starving to take a look so once we were finished talking I pretended like I was looking past her so I could discreetly get my fill of this thing. And I quickly had to look away because I could feel my pancake start to claw its way up from a warm place of comfort in my stomach.

A few minutes later I was ready for another good stare but she was gone. Where oh where had my little bearded pet run off to?

Well let me tell ya. I looked across the room and there she was, sitting on the sidelines of the dance floor, breastfeeding her one-year-old. No cover, no nothing. In front of a crowd full of people. I've frequenly had nightmares where I would somehow find myself doing the same thing and wake up in a cold panicked sweat.

Okay. Let me first go on record as saying I'm as pro-breastfeeding as the next woman. I breastfed two babies and I know how it is to be stuck in a public place when one of those little suckers needs a snack. However, I'm also anti-bearded-woman's-nipple-all-up-in-my-mix. I mean, the room was full of men, women and pre-pubescent boys who are right now locked in their rooms questioning their sexuality. And by questioning their sexuality I mean sawing their little penises clean off.

I almost didn't write this post because I was afraid that Beard might read it. But upon second thought I hope that she does. I PRAY she does. In fact, please allow me to take a moment to issue a public statement:

Dear Beard,

I know you've had it tough. I can only imagine what it was like as a young girl, wondering why all your friends had faces like china dolls while yours was that of a wolverine. But you're an adult now, Beard! You have the control! So many options are begging to be taken advantage of. You can shave it, wax it, or if you want to really embrace your womanhood you can laser it off and finally escape the Land of Misfit Toys once and for all.

The fact that you have two kids tells me that you've had sex with someone at least twice, so I'm guessing I speak for more than myself when I enter this plea.

Let me be clear - if you do decide to take action, just because you no longer look like Orson Welles doesn't make it any better when you whip out your boobie in front of a packed roomful of kids. Please... PLEASE... a Hooter Hider... a burp cloth... a Kleenex... ANYTHING!

At the very least, if you're going to insist on doing nothing, please at least grow your beard to a length long enough to cover your lactating nipples.

Sincerely,

Everyone in the world who is not blind

7.12.2011

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comments:

Commented on this post and wondering where your comment went? Well so am I. I should have known better to try to install a high tech commenting system. It totally tricked me into thinking it would be the best thing ever then it went and ate all my hard earned comments. Annie - I will hopefully see you at the next meet up, and maybe if I'm lucky you'll let me stroke your sweet beard.

Had I only known while watching our children scamper, plié, and cavort that you were furtively condemning me and my lustrous locks, I would not have been so nice. In fact, I am quite disgusted that I shared my Froot-by-the-Foot with you.

I suppose I could bore you with sad tales about my hormone imbalance. Or how we tried for 8 years to have children but couldn’t. No, not because of the hormone balance, but because my husband was afraid that my beard would grab him in a vise-like grip and subjugate him to my perverse sexual whims

Did it ever occur to you that I love my beard? That I am proud of it? That maybe I go to bed every night draped in nothing more than its silky strands while I stroke and shape them into an enviable Captain Lou Albano-esque coif? That maybe I wear it in tribute to America’s most beloved pitchman, Billy Mays, struck down all too soon? If you didn’t have a sad, broken little pebble for a heart, maybe you would understand, much like the venerable Minnie Pearl, that accepting a friend with a beard is “is a lot like going to a picnic. You don't mind going through a little bush to get there.”

And, as for nursing my child in public. Well, shame on you. If nursing my baby through the soft beaded curtain of my facial hair is not modest enough for you, then that is your problem. In the meantime, I will still be here, happily nursing my 3 and 5 year old children, keeping them safe, protected, and isolated from the elements under the soft shroud of my soft, silky Jimmie McMillian.

OMG My imagination is on overload.....awsome. Working in a retail clothing store for years and years, I thought I had seen everyhing, but Hanna you win first prize, maybe even the medal of amazing wonder. I am impressed! How I wish you had photographed it for posterity or at least for our curiosity and millions of hits on UTube.